“If you dont like my mother, then leave!” snapped the husband, never expecting his wife to actually do it.
The evening was winding down, and the flat where Nina, her husband Anthony, and his mother Vera typically lived was usually quiet by now. But today had been a disaster from the moment the sun rose. Two-year-old Simon was fussy, Vera found fault with everything, and Nina felt utterly drained. She had tried her bestcooking Veras favourite meals, cleaning the flat, tending to Simonbut pleasing Vera was impossible.
“Nina, you folded the towels wrong *again*,” Vera grumbled as she passed the bathroom. “How many times must I tell you? Corners facing *in*, not out!”
Or:
“Youve dressed the child all wrong, Nina! Its chilly outside, and youve put him in that thin jumper! Hell catch his death!”
Each time, Nina sighed but held her tongue. She endured it, hoping that with time, things would settlethat Vera would adjust to her, to Simon, to their life together. Anthony, when things got unbearable, usually stayed silent. If Nina dared complain, hed shrug and say, “Just ignore her, love. Mums getting onnerves, you know.”
Nina had planned a surprise for their wedding anniversarya small cake, the leather belt Anthony had been eyeing for months, a cosy evening for just the three of them (Simon included, naturally).
But on the big day, as dinner neared completion and Simonthank heavenshad finally dozed off, Vera launched into yet another tirade. This time, over the soup being “too salty” (it wasnt).
“This is inedible!” Vera shrieked, slamming her spoon down. “Are you trying to poison us? Nina, you cant cook to save your life!”
Nina gripped the ladle, her knuckles white. The anniversary, the cake, the surpriseall ruined. She turned to Anthony, who sat at the table, staring blankly at his plate. She waitedfor him to *finally* speak up, to defend her, to end this nonsense. But he said nothing.
“Anthony,” Nina said quietly. “Arent you going to say anything?”
He stood, walked out into the hall. Nina followed.
“Mums right,” Anthony muttered, not meeting her eyes. “Youre always doing something wrong.”
Tears welled in Ninas eyes. This was the last straw. She stared at him, but he just glared at the wall.
“Do you even *hear* yourself?” Her voice cracked. “Its our anniversary! II cooked, I *tried*! And your mother”
Anthony spun around. No anger in his facejust exhaustion, indifference.
“If you dont like my mother, leave.”
The words were so casual, so *ordinary*, that it took Nina a moment to process their weight. Hed said it like advice, not a verdict. Then he turned and walked away. Dinner was ruined. The anniversary was ruined. *Everything* was ruined.
Nina sat on their bed, hugging a sleeping Simon. The tears had dried, leaving salt tracks down her cheeks. She was stunned. *”Leave.”* Did he mean it? This was their *home*. Their *family*. Was he really willing to toss her and Simon aside so easily? She didnt pack a suitcase. It didnt feel realjust a nightmare shed wake from by morning.
A day passed. Then another. Anthony didnt apologise. He was cold, distant. He came home from work, ate in silence, then vanished into his study or glued himself to his computer. Barely spoke to her. Played with Simon mechanically, no joy left.
When Nina tried to talk to him, he brushed her off.
“Mums really upset. She says you insulted her.”
“*I* insulted *her*?” Nina couldnt believe her ears. “She screamed at me over *soup*!”
“Doesnt matter,” Anthony cut in. “Its up to you. Apologise first. *Maybe* shell forgive you.”
No reconciliation in his tonejust an ultimatum. And Nina understood. This wasnt her home. She was temporary here. Tolerated as long as she was convenient, as long as she performed. The moment she stopped being perfect, she could be tossed out like last weeks takeaway. The shock faded into a dull, crushing realisation. This wasnt a familyit was a one-sided loyalty game. She owed *them* everything. They owed *her* nothing.
She looked at Simon. He didnt belong here. *She* didnt belong here. This house, this atmosphereit was eroding her. Slowly, surely. And Anthony, her *husband*, just watched it happen. Worsehed nudged her toward the edge himself.
Anthony sat in a café with his mate Andrew, sipping coffee.
“Listen, mate, its its Nina. Bit of a mess,” he began.
Andrew raised a brow. “Mum again?”
Anthony nodded. “Yeah. Shes old, nerves shot. Ninas youngshe should adapt. But she wont. Always whinging, always offended.”
He was *tired* of it. The endless bickering, his mums nitpicking, Ninas resentment. He just wanted peace.
“I told her straight: if you dont like my mother, leave. I mean, what else could I say? Mums sacred. She raised me. Ninas always *some* issue.”
No regret in his voicejust self-righteous frustration. He didnt want responsibility. He wanted *Nina* to decide. To leave *herself*. That way, his conscience stayed clean. He wouldnt be “throwing her out.” Shed “choose” to go.
“Let *her* decide,” he repeated, as if convincing himself. “Im sick of it. Just want a quiet life. Come home to *silence*. No drama.”
He saw no fault in himself. *Nina* was the problemshe couldnt get along with his mum. He refused to see that his *inaction* was the issue. He just wanted the problem gone. And in his mind, the only way was for Nina to walk away.
The next day, Nina rented a small one-bed flat nearby. She packed quietly, no fuss. Anthony was at work. A van came, and in a few trips, they took the essentialsher and Simons things, some toys, a few books. No drama. No tears.
When Anthony came home, the flat felt hollow. He checked the bedroomher things were gone. The kitchenhis half-eaten dinner on the table. A note beside it. Short. Unemotional.
*You said it. I did it. To make it easier for you.*
At the bottom, in small letters: *Simons with me.*
Anthony read it twice. Shed *actually* left? Hed assumed shed storm off to her mums, sulk for a few days, then come crawling back. He waited for her call. A day. Two. Three. Nothing.
The next week, he came home to no laughter. No Simon running to him shouting, “Daddy!” Just silence. *Too much* silence.
He called Nina.
“Hi. How how are you?”
“Fine,” she said, voice flat. No anger, no warmth. “Simons asleep.”
“When when are you coming back?” His voice wavered.
“Why? You said it yourself: ‘If you dont like it, leave.’ So I did.”
“But I didnt mean”
“I did,” Nina cut in. “To make it easier. For you. For me. For Simon.”
She hung up. Anthony stared at the wall. Hed done this. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Hed *pushed* her out.
Months passed. Anthony lived with his mother now. The flat, once so full of “tension,” was silent. *Too* silent.
Veras complaints, once aimed at Nina, now targeted *him*.
“Anthony, sit up straight at the table! Slouching like a teenager!”
“Anthony, why must you put the tea *there*? I said *on the coaster*!”
“Anthony, why are you eating so slowly? Ive already cleared up!”
Everything Nina had endured was now *his* reality. The nitpicking, the irrational grudges, the endless corrections. No one argued. No one disrupted the peace. Just silencebroken only by his mothers voice. And her suffocating control.
He woke to her voice. Came home to it. Hed trapped himself. Hed wanted Nina gone for “peace.” And he got itdead silence and perpetual dissatisfaction.
Sometimes, he saw Nina from afar in the park with Simon. She looked *calm*. Free. No shouting, no battles, no bitterness. Shed simply left, just as hed told her to. And taken everything that made his life whole with her.
He was master of his
